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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28030860">'tis the damn season</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/flwrpotts/pseuds/flwrpotts'>flwrpotts</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Riverdale (TV 2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Varchie!Centric, sad christmas!, take holiday fluff and make it depressing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:20:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,289</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28030860</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/flwrpotts/pseuds/flwrpotts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Somehow Archie isn’t surprised when Veronica rings his doorbell, immaculate in her dark coat and stockings but the nerves flickering on her face. It’s instantaneous, the feeling that he gets when he sees her, like a click in a lock or a rush of dopamine. Like some deadbolt twists in his chest, unlocking a safe that holds the things he tries not to think about. </p>
<p>“Ronnie,” he says, the old nickname slipping out before he can stop himself. </p>
<p>“I was going to call,” she explains. “But-” </p>
<p>"I’m glad you’re back,” he says, opening the door and letting her inside.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Archie Andrews/Veronica Lodge</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>8th Bughead Fanfiction Awards - Nominees</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>'tis the damn season</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>of course title + inspiration comes from the excellently depressing 'tis the damn season from t swift. i wrote this in like....two hours BUT i missed varchie. thank u christmas miracle for making me finally able to finish something.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>one. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Somehow Archie isn’t surprised when Veronica rings his doorbell, immaculate in her dark coat and stockings but the nerves flickering on her face. It’s instantaneous, the feeling that he gets when he sees her, like a click in a lock or a rush of dopamine. Like some deadbolt twists in his chest, unlocking a safe that holds the things he tries not to think about. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ronnie,” he says, the old nickname slipping out before he can stop himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was going to call,” she explains. “But-” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m glad you’re back,” he says, opening the door and letting her inside. Veronica and steps in and hugs him, tentative at first until his arms tighten around her and she instantly relaxes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Missed you,” she says into his chest, and he holds on for a beat too long before stepping back. Her shampoo is different but she smells the same, that familiar Veronica scent of expensive perfume and coffee. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you staying at your parents?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Veronica rolls her eyes, putting her coat on the hook and sitting down on the couch, instantly familiar. Archie takes in the immaculate waves of her hair, the tiny crinkles around her eyes the only sign of her age. Glamorous and unrefined with her bare feet on the hardwood floor. He’s missed her so much that her presence feels like a dream, some sort of hallucination of the past. If Veronica can tell he’s having a mild existential crisis she doesn’t show it, sweeping her hair over her shoulder and sighing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, technically,” she explains, accepting when he hands her a bottle of beer from the fridge. “God,” she says, “I haven’t had a beer in years. Anyways, they’re currently in Monaco, and their flight was supposed to get in yesterday, but it got moved tomorrow. So I’m an orphan for the evening.” She shrugs and takes a sip of her beer, the gesture somehow elegant on her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Archie sits next to her on the couch, takes a sip of his own beer. She slides her legs into her lap, all muscle memory. “Well, you’re more than welcome to stay here,” he says. “My mom isn’t getting in from Chicago until tomorrow, too.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Veronica looks at him over the lip of the bottle, looking at him like she’s evaluating. “Are you seeing anyone?” she asks, the question not as innocent as her tone suggests. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Archie shakes his head, flashes a self-deprecating smile. “No, there isn’t anyone,” he tells her. There’s been the occasional girl over the past five years, girls with dark hair or a sharp wit, girls that have spent the night, but no one like her. No one even close to the two of them at sixteen, attached at the hip, sneaking out at night like they were inventing the concept of love. Even now, they share that same wavelength, their own private language of looks and inside jokes and gestures. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll take you up on that offer, then,” she says, her smile sly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I saw you on the t.v,” he tells her after a moment. “You were good.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Veronica laughs. “It was a bit part,” she deflects. “No one ever claims that making it as an actress is </span>
  <em>
    <span>easy. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But I’m glad that you liked it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They fought a lot, towards the end. She couldn’t stay and he couldn’t leave, no easy way to make the split. But still, here she is, all grown up and still the girl who would throw her arms around him after football games, glittering in face paint and cheerleading uniform. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If anyone is going to be a star, it’ll be you,” he promises and Veronica’s face lights up, accepts the compliment because they both know it’s true. That elusive quality she has, the magnetism that makes every person in a restaurant turn to look. And still he knows her like this, drinking cheap beer and making jokes about people they used to know. When she leans over and kisses him on the couch Archie feels like no time has passed at all, like they can stay in this one perfect, suspended in amber moment.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>two. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Veronica wakes up and she is sixteen years old again, the world easily familiar with Archie’s heavy arm warm where it’s draped across her stomach. She looks at the ceiling and knows somewhere that the leaving will hurt just as badly as the first time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you have anything to do today?” Archie asks her over breakfast. It’s ridiculous how normal it all feels, like five years have not split them from the people that they used to be. Ridiculous that Veronica is eating pancakes in the Andrews kitchen wearing nothing but Archie’s flannel shirt and a pair of socks, snow drifting outside the window. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Veronica grins at him over her cup of lukewarm coffee. “Not a thing in the world, Archie Andrews,” she says, and when Archie smiles at her she can feel the narrow fissures in her heart start to break back open, that sentimental, nearly pleasurable hurt of missing him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They do the stupid stuff that they used to do in high school, driving around in the red pickup that Archie’s still too sentimental to trade in, Veronica’s feet kicked up on the dash because she wants to see if he’ll still complain about her getting footprints on the inside of his windshield. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re gonna leave footprints,” he says, looking away from the road so that he can shake his head at her in mock disapproval. Veronica barely manages to hide her smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Riverdale looks the same as it always has, lovely as a Christmas card, every house lovingly strung with lights. In high school she and Archie used to drive around at night for hours so that she could look at them, a city kid’s delight at authentic Christmas spirit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, the old ice skating rink!” Veronica gasps when Archie turns down the street near the high school. “Oh my gosh, I thought they shut that old thing down.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You want to go?” Archie asks, already flicking the turn signal on, and Veronica clasps her hands in excitement. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They loan skates from the little shop set up near the ring and toss their shoes into a locker, Veronica taking in the sight of little kids and teenage couples swirling around. Like everything else in Riverdale the place is suffused with an almost too perfect nostalgia, glittery lights wound around the trees and the smell of fresh pine needles and clean ice. Archie laces up Veronica’s skates for her, her foot propped in his lap because she’s forgotten how to do it after all these years. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“God, I can’t remember the last time I went ice skating,” Veronica says as she steps out on the ice, one hand tight on the railing for balance. Archie follows her, surprisingly graceful as he skates in a quick circle around her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not much ice in L.A?” Archie asks her, lighthearted but something a little sad in his voice. Veronica shakes her head, then laughs as Archie balances on one skate, a ridiculous effort. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now you’re just showing off!” she protests, shrieking with giggles when Archie grabs her hand and pulls her along after him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn’t know how long they spend out skating, doing silly races and trying to see if they can skate with their eyes closed, but their faces are flushed when they finally leave, still holding hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It got cold,” Veronica remarks, rubbing her arms for warmth. The snow is starting to stick on the ground now, the sign that a good storm is coming. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Archie takes off his hat and plops it on Veronica’s head, adjusting it for her until it’s settled over her eyebrows. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m clashing,” she tells him, and he kisses her right there in the middle of the parking lot, her face held between his hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What was that for?” she asks when he pulls back, a little breathless, the happiness settling low and warm in her stomach, as familiar to her as coming home. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Archie shrugs, clasping their mittened hands back together and swinging them a little. “Just wanted to,” he explains easily, and Veronica turns and presses a quick kiss to his shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>three. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The snow settles and thickens until it’s a full on storm, the distant hum of snowplows just starting. “The roads are pretty bad,” he tells Veronica, curled up in his bed and sipping on a cup of tea, wearing his t-shirt, glasses perched on her narrow face. “My mom called and told me that her flight was cancelled. Are you sure you want to drive back in this weather?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Veronica contemplates for a moment, like the decision is weightier than just that. “You’re probably right,” she finally says. “You don’t mind if I stay another night?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As long as you don’t mind Cheerios for Christmas Eve dinner,” he replies, only half kidding, and Veronica laughs, stretches her arms over her head. He ducks and kisses her mid-stretch, Veronica laughing into his mouth as he flops back onto the sheets. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’ve been in bed since they got back from the ice skating rink, stupid midafternoon indulgence like he hasn’t had since he was a teenager, slow, lazy sex and sleep, Veronica reading some indecipherable novel while he lays with head on her bare stomach. The rest of the world doesn’t exist, it’s just them and the snow, the peculiar alchemy of the two of them together. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually Veronica calls her mother, playing with his fingers as she does it, studying the calluses and scars like it’s going to tell her something. Her tone is polite and crisp as she explains the situation, that she’s staying with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>friend </span>
  </em>
  <span>for the night. Archie makes a face at her and she grins at him, pushing one hand against his face to make him stop, giggling as she finishes the conversation. She hangs up the call and pounces on him, her knees slotting around his hips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are absurd,” she tells him, glasses slipping down her nose, trying to look stern and failing miserably. Archie twists them and picks Veronica up, carrying her on his shoulder as she pounds on his back, shrieking through the house like little kids. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s barely anything in the fridge so they make pasta for dinner, plain with butter because there’s no tomato sauce in the house. There’s a bottle of whiskey abandoned in an old cupboard so they break it open, sitting on the kitchen floor and eating pasta straight from the pot because Archie was too lazy to grab plates. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They watch the little kids Christmas specials on the television because Archie still loves them, poking Veronica to pay attention during his favorite parts. Veronica sprawls on the living room floor with her head in Archie’s lap, sleepy and a little drunk as he runs his fingers through her hair, telling her the story about Frosty the Snowman traumatizing him when he was six. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The clock on the wall strikes midnight, chiming loudly in the quiet room. Archie looks down at Veronica, so beautiful it hurts even with no makeup on and her hair a mess. “Merry Christmas, Veronica,” he says quietly, and leans down to kiss her, Veronica’s arms coming up to tangle around the back of his neck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Merry Christmas, Archie,” she says, and the unspoken </span>
  <em>
    <span>I love you </span>
  </em>
  <span>echoes around inside his skull, the words that he cannot bring himself to say. She sits up to crawl into his lap, raw and warm, and they have sex on the living room floor, the t.v still running in the background. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Archie wakes up on Christmas morning to Veronica’s legs tangled with his, the premature grief already sloshing around hot and salty inside him. He runs his fingers through her dark, silky hair, watching as she blinks awake and smiles at him before she realizes she’s doing it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good morning,” he says, and Veronica kicks the covers off of their legs, presses her face hard into the juncture between his jaw and shoulder before she pulls away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I should get home,” she says quietly. “My parents are going to be pissed that I haven’t come back yet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Archie wants to sob, wants to pull the covers over his head and pretend the outside world doesn’t exist, but instead he crawls out of bed and walks to the window, surveying the roads. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The plows came overnight,” he tells her. “You should be fine to drive.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Veronica stands in front of him, a little uncertain. Archie knows with a sudden, lightning bolt flash that he could ask her to stay, to come back from L.A for him and she would. She would do it, and they could stay like this. He knows too that he cannot do that to her, that the worst thing he could do is let her give up her dream. Her upper lip wobbles, the way it does when she’s trying too hard not to cry. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This has been- this has been really good,” she tells him, the words not enough. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Archie kisses her long, knowing it’s the last time, knowing that they will not be able to put themselves through this again. “You take care of yourself, okay?” he tells her, and she nods, starts to gather her things and put her clothes on. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The door clicks behind her when she leaves, and Archie doesn’t watch as her car pulls out of the driveway. He knows that the hurt will be just as bad as the first time, grief another word for the future absence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He keeps the doodled piece of paper that they played hangman on, the word </span>
  <em>
    <span>melancholy. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She keeps his hat. It’s not enough. </span>
</p>
<p><br/>fin.</p>
  </div></div>
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